


Not A Prayer in Hell, But Close Enough

by Moviemuncher



Category: Supernatural
Genre: An angel and a demon, Castiel takes care of Meg, Could fit into canon quite easily, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Meg is hurt, no sweeter innocence than their gentle sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moviemuncher/pseuds/Moviemuncher
Summary: Castiel looked down at the demon in his arms, her bloodied face a haunting image. The pale skin beneath was a thin cover for her true face, but both were marred with injuries. Injuries she couldn’t heal on her own, and neither could he.





	Not A Prayer in Hell, But Close Enough

Castiel looked down at the demon in his arms, her bloodied face a haunting image. The pale skin beneath was a thin cover for her true face, but both were marred with injuries. Injuries she couldn’t heal on her own, and neither could he. He laid her down on the bed and considered her. 

Meg was supposed to be, at their very cores, his enemy. His natural prey even. Demons were weak game for angels, especially angels with a several millenias of combat experience. She was perhaps a few hundred years old, at most. A few decades at least. She would never tell him, and it would never matter. So, she was the ant to his boot, the lamb to his lion, and yet he couldn’t stomp her out of existence. Not without much regret. 

She was the lamb in this dynamic, and yet she was far from innocent. She tortured, killed and a barrage of other sins all adding blackness to her already corrupted soul. She was mean, malicious and all things wicked, but he couldn’t see it really. She did bad things, but it didn’t seem to make her a bad person in his eyes. And as a creature of faith, and harnessing the right to bestow judgement and justice, that was not right. He didn’t care though. Not when he could see her, and when out of sight, out of mind. 

He took off his coat and jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he walked towards the bathroom. The hand towel was rough and a ratty white but he only needed it to wipe the blood away. He soaked it in the sink and rinsed it as best he could before carrying it back into her. He sat on the side of the bed for better access. He looked down at her again, his hand reaching out to brush her tacky hair out of her face. His hands made her face look so small, her features very frail. A human body barely needed a tap to break, and a demon was as weak as their vessel when incapacitated. He smoothed his hand across her clammy cheek before bringing the towel up, wrapped around his fist he wiped at the blood the best he could. He cleaned up her face, gently manipulating her head to expose her neck and collar. 

He cleaned every bit of skin available to him, which was a fair bit, she had been in mostly torn clothing, a flimsy sleeveless blouse and ripped up (not by design) jeans. Once he was done, he sat back and evaluated his work. She was cleaner, but she didn’t look better.

Castiel stood again and walked over to the motel window. He could wait for her to wake up and then get bandages, or leave and risk her waking and taking off. He chose to risk it, she seemed deeply unconscious after all. 

Dean startled at his appearance, as usual. 

“Cas, what’s up?”

Dean could be remarkably perceptive, Castiel thought. Sometimes at the most inconvenient times, but his friend meant well. 

“Nothing is the matter Dean, I simply require something.”

Castiel didn’t know why he didn’t just be upfront with Dean, why he didn’t tell him the truth. Quite honestly, Cas had hoped the brother’s would be asleep. Sam was, spread out on the motel bed as he was when Castiel left over an hour ago.

“Well, what is it man? I can help.”

Castiel gave Dean a warm look, admittedly, not many looked at his face and thought it emotive, but it was there. 

“I need the book of spells I found for Sam.”

“It’s in the Impala’s trunk. Here man, keys.” Dean said, and threw him the keys, then yawned. “It’s in the grey duffel.”

“Thank you Dean.” Castiel said, catching the keys easily and flying outside. There was a first aid kit in the Impala too, and he pocketed some of the wipes, bandage rolls and medical tape. He took the book, so Dean didn’t think he lied, and brought the keys back to Dean.

“If Sam needs the book tomorrow, just call me.” Castiel instructed Dean who sleepily nodded, taking the keys off the angel, and shooing him out so he could go to bed. Castiel returned to Meg, and saw that she had woken. Her eyes blinked slowly, but her whole body tensed as the noise of his wings whispered through the room. 

“It’s just me.” He said, his voice blank. He said it to reassure her, but would it work? Meg’s head slowly rolled on the pillow to look at him. 

“Clarence” she rasped, and Castiel nodded. He didn’t know why she called him Clarence, but it was of little consequence. He didn’t know her real name either. Her lips upturned, her usual sardonic grin, but he thinks it’s a little softer. Exhaustion or relief, he won’t ask. He pulls the medical supplies from his trouser pocket and walks to Meg. He takes a wipe, and rips the packaging off.

“Hold still” he told her and she gave him a burning look, her eyebrows quirked up. He frowned at her attitude and swabbed the wipe across a cut indelicately. She hissed at him, but held still despite the initial flinch, and his touch softened, a little apologetic in his soft sweeping of fingers beside the wipe. He cleaned up all the cuts and helped her sit up. She sagged against the headboard. 

“You should wash up properly now.” He said, and pulled her to her feet. She sustained her own weight for a moment before slumping, his hands on her biceps only just preventing her from falling. He hiked her up using this grip, then slid his arm around her waist, pulling at her gently. She was now resting across his chest, red lines being painted on his white shirt from her still exposed cuts. He sighed, then moved her so she was resting against his left shoulder, before bending and sweeping her legs up in his right arm, cradling her to his chest easily. He carried her into the bathroom, and set her on the sink counter. He bent to the tub/shower, and turned the tap on.   
“Shower.” She cut in. “I’m not sitting in bloody bathwater.” 

He turned the shower on, switching the tap off. He set the water to warm, unsure of how a demon gauged temperature, or what would hurt least in her wounds. He turned to Meg. 

“Do you require assistance showering?” He asked. He saw her eyes light up, her mouth twist into a humorous smile, but for some reason she resisted telling the joke behind her lips. She simply nodded. Castiel hummed. 

“Can you undress?” He asked. He toed his own shoes and socks off, before beginning to unbutton his shirt. She shrugged, then winced. 

“I can get my shirt off I think.” She said, and began to wriggle out of the shredded fabric, but getting it above her shoulders seemed a problem. Castiel stripped his own shirt away before reaching out and pulling hers off. Her bra underneath had a strap sliced through, and was stained with a rust colour in places. He helped her undo the clasp as well, and slide it away. She sat, unashamed, on the sink counter. He gently touched her hip before pulling back to finish undressing himself, then he helped her. He carried her naked body to the tub, and carefully stepped into it. The slick porcelain was an unstable platform on which to stand, so he lowered them so they were sat under the stream of the water, and let it soak them both. Meg moved her head directly under and began to pull and detangle her hair, helping the water run through to the roots and scalp below. Red at first, then pink, the water sloshed away. 

Castiel reached for the complimentary motel soap, it smelled cheap and plain but it would suffice. He handed it to Meg who used it carefully around her cuts, then poured some onto her hair in the absence of shampoo. She lathered it through and washed away the suds, hissing as soapy water hit some of her wounds. Castiel tried to help, covering some of the widest gashes on her back with his hands. 

Soon the water was running colder, and Meg was clean. Castiel stood, turned the water off and stepped out of the tub. He grabbed the towels on the rack, wrapped one around his waist as Dean and Sam often did, before opening the other up to scoop Meg up into.

“I’m not a baby” she protested as he swaddled her in the rough cloth and held her close. He carried her back to the bed and set her down against the headboard. He dried himself off and redressed before coming back to Meg. She was shivering slightly, weakened as she was. 

Castiel helped dry her off, then pulled the bandages and tape from the folds of the bed covers. She frowned but allowed him to cover her wounds. 

“Why are you helping me Clarence?” Meg asked, and her voice was so quiet, anybody else would have struggled to hear her. 

“You asked me to.”

“In my hea-” Meg paused. “I prayed?” She asked incredulously.   
Castiel looked at her. 

“How?” She whispered. She was shocked, and a little nervous it seemed. 

“How many prayers do you think come from within hell?” He asked her. “They are harder to hear, but they’re there.”

She leaned back, and thought about it. She had prayed, and an angel had come for her. A demon prayed, and angel came and saved her. She looked at the angel in question, and Castiel bore her scrutiny, as always with merely a stare in return. She leaned forward, watching the blue of his vessel’s eyes, turned electric by the grace behind them, sparkle and glow ever so slightly. 

Two human bodies, two non-human beings within. 

She crossed the distance with her lips, meeting his in a gentle clash. He allowed her to move against him, and soon he was returning the kiss. It was much gentler than their first, but his fingers still wound into her wet hair, gripping tight at the roots and pulling her greedily into him, his other hand framing her face, then holding the back of her head. She grips his shirt collar and the wrist of the hand in her hair, letting herself depend on his strength to stay upright. She pulls her lips away, breathless. 

“Thank you Clarence.”


End file.
